


Shared Intent

by fractalgeometry



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hugs, M/M, Other, Post-Canon, Prayer, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28752720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalgeometry
Summary: Aziraphale looked like a perfect image of a praying human.Crowley felt, very suddenly, that this was not a place he was supposed to be. He made an abrupt turn and walked into the rows of shelves, not stopping until he reached a window.So. Aziraphale was praying. Probably.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 123





	Shared Intent

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember exactly how I came up with this idea. I just know that the idea came to mind, followed quickly by a few lines of dialogue, and I had to write it. I think it's an interesting piece, and I hope you all enjoy.

Crowley burst through the door of the bookshop with his usual vigor. He was opening his mouth to call Aziraphale when he spotted the angel, in plain sight, on the floor. A spike of worry went through him. Was Aziraphale hurt? Unconscious? He took three steps forward- and stopped. No, Aziraphale didn’t look injured. He was kneeling on the floor near the sofa, hands folded, lips moving. He looked like a perfect image of a praying human.

Crowley felt, very suddenly, that this was not a place he was supposed to be. He made an abrupt turn and walked into the rows of shelves, not stopping until he reached a window. 

So. Aziraphale was praying. Probably. Crowley was fairly certain that that wasn’t how angels usually spoke to God, but it wasn’t like he had any recent experience with that particular thing, and he couldn’t come up with another explanation for what Aziraphale was doing. 

He stared out the window for a while, then carefully circled back to where he’d seen Aziraphale. The angel hadn’t apparently moved, and from this angle Crowley was only more convinced of his guess. He executed an about-face and disappeared back among the books. 

He should probably leave. Aziraphale was definitely busy, and while they did share a lot with each other, especially these days, this seemed like an easy place to overstep. 

He didn’t leave.

After nearly half an hour of standing and staring out the window he turned and, once more, went back to the main area. If Aziraphale was still busy, he told himself, he would call it a day and go out.

Aziraphale hadn’t moved. 

No, that wasn’t right. Aziraphale hadn’t _stood up._ His hands had dropped to his lap, and his eyes were open, but he hadn’t otherwise moved except for a small lean to the side, where his shoulder now rested on the sofa. 

He looked up when he saw Crowley. So much for not interrupting.

“Hey,” Crowley said.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said.

“Should I go?”

“No need for that,” Aziraphale said. He didn’t move.

“Are you okay?”

Aziraphale sighed, the full-body sigh of someone who is recalibrating themselves after an experience. He nodded. 

“Want to sit together?” Crowley asked, belatedly realizing he had asked several questions in a row.

“That would be nice,” Aziraphale said. He patted the sofa above him in invitation.

Crowley felt rather like he couldn’t quite figure out what was happening. He crossed to the offered seat and settled — somewhat awkwardly — into it.

Aziraphale finally moved, shifting off his knees and extending his legs in front of him, leaning back against the sofa. Crowley let his hand, lying on the cushions, experimentally brush the top of Aziraphale’s head. When Aziraphale didn’t react, he did it again, a little more firmly.

Aziraphale lifted his arm and draped it across Crowley’s knee. Crowley, perforce, continued brushing his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, sometimes winding the curls around a finger and slowly letting them fall off. 

Finally Aziraphale said, “It’s strange, not having Heaven around anymore.”

Crowley kept his movements steady, listening.

“There are many things I don’t miss,” Aziraphale continued. “But I am so _used_ to them. Sometimes…” 

Crowley bit his tongue, staying quiet, quiet, giving Aziraphale the time to get where he was going.

“Sometimes,” Aziraphale said again, voice even, matter-of-fact, calm, “I think that if Gabriel were to walk in and tell me to do something, I would do it.”

 _Shut your stupid mouth and die already_ rang in Crowley's ears.

His hand dropped to Aziraphale’s shoulder without his conscious approval, squeezing hard, _hard,_ as though he could keep Aziraphale on Earth by that alone. Aziraphale brought his own hand up to cover Crowley’s, squeezing in return. 

“I won’t,” he said, urgently. “At least, I don’t think so. But sometimes I feel so adrift, and…”

“I know,” Crowley said. He did know. He knew, personally, a version of that feeling, that not knowing what to do now that you weren’t stifled. He knew, from hearing Aziraphale talk, another version. Aziraphale’s version.

Aziraphale pushed himself off the ground, climbing onto the sofa and into Crowley’s arms. 

“I can’t believe I challenged them, sometimes,” he said, nestling his head against Crowley’s shoulder. “I don’t know that I could do it again, but then I think maybe I challenge them every day by being here and not paying attention to them at all. Maybe I’m doing it over and over.”

Crowley nodded, wrapping his arms tightly around Aziraphale and holding on. 

“We don’t pray like the humans do,” Aziraphale said suddenly. 

Crowley found it took a minute to follow the change in topic. 

“Angels, I mean,” Aziraphale continued. “We call in, I suppose, and we always know if we got through.”

“I thought you got the Metatron last time you tried that,” Crowley said.

“I did,” Aziraphale said. “I think everyone does. I don’t think God is taking anyone’s calls directly these days. And today...I wanted to speak to Her, really speak, not just offhand things here and there, but calling up the Metatron seemed like a bad plan, given recent events-”

Crowley suddenly understood the reason behind Aziraphale’s talk of being away from Heaven.

“-and I thought, the humans just... _talk,_ I’ve seen them do it, there’s no reason I couldn’t try it. I sometimes wonder if the Metatron ever passes on any of the things we say in the first place. Maybe the human way is just as effective.”

“Guess nobody knows for sure,” Crowley commented. 

“I am a little worried that even if it’s right for humans it’s wrong for _me,”_ Aziraphale said fretfully. “As an angel, and all. But I don’t think that speaking via Heaven is necessarily right for me anymore either. And I did so want to speak to Her, just a bit. I can’t just stop- but no, I’m rambling on, and I know you don’t go in for this. I do apologize, my dear.”

“I yell at Them, mostly,” Crowley said before he could think better of it.

Aziraphale sat up just enough that he could see Crowley’s face. “What?”

Crowley trained his gaze on the ceiling and kept it there. “You heard me.”

“You...yell...at God?”

Crowley nodded. “Seems like the best way to get my point across, a lot of the time.”

“You speak to God.” Aziraphale sounded wondering. Surprised, but not shocked. 

“Sometimes,” Crowley said, still not looking at Aziraphale. “Sometimes there are things where there’s no one else to blame. And, well, I’m not a human. Or an angel. No sparkly circles or quiet sitting for me. I just...shout.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale said softly, like he wanted to say something comforting, but didn’t quite know what to give comfort about.

“Anyway,” Crowley said, looking down at last. “My point was I guess you don’t need to worry about your method too much. It’s not like we have proof that any of them work. Or don’t work. Everybody’s just trying to say what they think needs to be said, and no one knows if anyone’s actually hearing them.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said slowly. “That’s...quite a lovely point, Crowley. Perhaps the _method_ doesn’t matter as much as the _intent.”_

“Something like that,” Crowley mumbled. “They’re probably not listening to me anyway,” _nor did he know if he wanted Them to, sometimes,_ “but I doubt it’s because of how I say things.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale mused. “I suppose none of us really know, though, right? That’s what you were just saying. And yet we still all pr-”

“I do _not,”_ Crowley growled, because _that_ was definitely not somewhere he was going today. “I yell, and scream, and- and threaten.” _And plead, sometimes. Beg. He didn’t worry about it much in the moment. It wasn’t like They were going to tell anyone. They never told anyone anything._

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and there was understanding in his voice, knowledge of the line he had crossed. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Crowley said quietly. “Point is just...you do your thing, right? Don’t worry about it too much.” 

Aziraphale nodded. “I’m sorry if I made you talk about something you didn’t want to.”

Crowley shook his head. “Nah. If I really didn’t want to I wouldn’t. I’m very good at not talking about things.”

Aziraphale laughed, and the sound was normal, and familiar, and loved. 

Crowley grinned and pulled Aziraphale closer to hug him again. 

“Don’t let anyone tell you what to do, though, okay?” he said. “You don’t need them.”

Aziraphale nodded against Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize how much I needed you to come over today.”

“Can’t say I did either,” Crowley said. 

“I suppose not,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “Regardless, I appreciate your timing and your insight.”

Crowley made a series of grumbly noises and squeezed Aziraphale, who obligingly went quiet and snuggled closer. 

No, Crowley hadn’t expected a lot of what his afternoon had ended up being, though he couldn't say it had been bad. This part, though? This part was just what he wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm curious to hear your thoughts, if you have any.


End file.
